Disguise
by White Phoenix Erialis
Summary: Kel wears a mask that conforms to her face. Trapped behind an image she allowed to take a life of its own, she reflects on the secret hurts she endures.


Disguise 

It was the first night of the midwinter celebrations. The chandeliers cast the soft glow of candlelight upon the dancers upon the marble floor. The ladies with their painted faces, young men with their lovelorn gaze. The royalty presiding over the festivities from their makeshift throne upon a dais, watching the eldest prince twirl his wife upon the dance floor, sharing an intimate joke between themselves and no one else. Dresses hugged trim figures, neatly-pressed suits impressive with silver trim. The orchestra playing timeless love-songs upon a variety of instruments, the sounds blending together in one unbroken melody.

Far from the ballroom was a quiet corridor, the torches burning in brackets upon the walls. Fraying tapestries were the only visible ornaments. Shadows danced like fleeting images from the past, haunting the halls where they once lived in. Or so it all appeared. She continued to stand unhindered along the wall, leaning against it in what that appeared to be an extremely casual manner, certain of her right to be there then. She was not waiting for someone, for all others were at the ball. She was not waiting for something, because there was only emptiness in her eyes. Emptiness that betrayed her loneliness. Emptiness that spoke of a destitute state of mind.

Some people believed she had it all. Some people believed that she had everything she wanted. She believed that she had too much. All she ever wanted was a moment to herself to be herself, to stop having to hide behind a mask. A mask that concealed her uncertainties, a mask that concealed her weaknesses. She wanted to let the emotions be her strength, not her weakness. She wanted to take away the mask and let the emotions play across her face like everyone else. They respected her because she had the iron strength they lacked. She hated herself for the same reason. She wanted to have a weakness. To have a weakness that could give her back the strength to live. There was no point in living a masquerade. No point at all.

She wanted to tell the truth. She wanted to let them know what was wrong, that she was a vulnerable person like anyone else. But they had problems of their own, and always they came to her for help. She had not the heart to turn them away, had not to heart to deny them aid. Always a friend, always a confidant, always there. They would never guess that it was them that was her problem. Never guessed that when they asked if she was fine, it would be because of them that she was not. That she carried their burdens for them, walked the extra mile for them. Her heart bled for their hurts, her mind weary from their thoughts. She wanted to be free. She wanted to be herself, not lie through her teeth.

She was fine. It was the only reply she could ever give to them, her antagonists. She did not want them to start questioning who she had been all these while. But Mithros, she was tired of the facade, the game she played. She had given up all hope of winning. It was the emptiness in her eyes, marking her as extraordinarily resilient to herself. She fought against them just as much as she fought against herself. The conscience that did not let her free, the ritual that did not want her go. The knowledge that she was their hope and not her own. It was such a mixture of emotions, but one she could not display.

Space, time, thought. Too much of each, too little of each. Each breath she took was laboured, as if her time was running out, her chest constricting and giving her no space. Her mind a blank, driven to such a point by her lack of air. Then the next gasp, the next fight for something she could never get. Her facade was calm, impenetrable. Cool and commanding, reasonable and sure. She was everything she was not, and everything she had was a lie. She told the truth each time, but it was not her who spoke. It was the mask, taken a life of its own. She hated the words it said, contradictions of what she felt. But she could not fight back. She had not the strength to. Someday she might, but not now.

Who was she but a lie? She did not live a lie. She was the lie that was honest. The lie that told the truth that amounted to nothing. She never understood anything beyond the circular path her life took. She wanted to break free but found that with each step, she was closer to where she was a step ago. There was no freedom, no freedom from a labyrinth she built for herself so many years ago, so long before she understood what it meant to wear a mask. She was caught up in a tragedy. A comedy. A romance, and it all amounted to nothing but a tragedy again. A life that held no meaning, an existence that could only be doubted because it was too far away for her to reach out and touch. There was only a questioning, not a knowing.

She wanted to break free and find herself away. Away from a lie she'd been living, away from a facade that she had believed in. Away from the cares they imposed upon her so that for a moment she was who she was. She would be the truth and not the lie, alive and without question. To be what she'd always wanted to be. To know where things had gone wrong and remedy it so that there was no chance of reliving it again. No chance of falling into a trap she made for herself, simply because she never saw it coming. Somehow, the thought comforted her little. But little was better than none...

She wasn't waiting for someone. She wasn't waiting for something. She was waiting for the sun to rise, the sun to set, the pattern to fulfill itself again. Marking yet another circle she had walked, standing there, leaning against the wall. She was waiting for it all to be removed, the pain she felt on others' behalf. It was all she waited for, to be who she wanted to be and not what they wanted her to be. She wanted to be free and alive, not strong but hopeless. She wanted to be more than a shadow in a corner of the story, nothing more than a passing heroine, part of a forgotten tale.

She never cared. She never wanted so much.

But she wanted to drop the disguise and learn that it had all been a dream. In an ironic manner it had been, knighthood being her sole desire. A twist, a lie, a fate she did not want to bear but had to. A voice, telling her who she was. To be the Protector of the Small that she had never asked to be.

FIN.

AN: Mission accomplished. My fingers are numb from typing the long paragraphs, but it was worth the while. A little vague, perhaps, but overall satisfying (I hope!). I like angst. To let her suffer in silence. No, I'm not trying to make Kel sound either self-pitying or self-sacrificial. I'm just trying to add a dab of humanity to her.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned (only one, come to think of it). Thanks.

ERIALIS


End file.
